


A Tale Of The Painter

by najaeri



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Colors, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, description, painter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24141895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/najaeri/pseuds/najaeri
Summary: But the most important thing of each one of his thoughts was that they didn't came alone, but accompanied him with the loudest muse, the deepest sense of the verb called love. Not many have it, other desired it, but since he saw him he knew that sooner or later he was going to be his. Yeah... Because from him his best works, his best beauties and his best scenarios came out; embracing him dearly.
Relationships: Lee Hoseok | Wonho/Lee Minhyuk
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	A Tale Of The Painter

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic was posted in AFF as a MinRam (Changmin x Karam). In AO3, it will be WooHyuk (Wonho x Minhyuk). All copyrights to me. Thank you!

Wonho stood in front of the canvas, with his color palette on his hand. He carried it firmly, making it his. Those two objects, one in front of him and the other lying on his hands, were his everyday sounds. It was his inspiration, his source of life. It was there where he painted all his feelings and his greatest achievements. Each thing he wanted to take out from deep inside, each feeling that lied within his heart, he embodied it with the strokes and smiles he gave to his paintings.

But the most important thing about each one of his thoughts was that they didn't come alone. They were accompanied by the loudest muse, the deepest sense of the verb called love. Not many have it, others desired it, but since he saw him he knew that sooner or later he was going to be his. Yes... because from him his best works, his best beauties and his best scenarios came out, embracing him dearly.

By only desiring him, his darkest colors became brighter. 

However, he had to keep working. It was a piece that he had to give to Seoul’s National Museum, where they would exhibit it along with his works, and some other grandiose painters as well. It was his passion since he was little and he went for it, always trying to be one of the best without worrying about what others said to him about it. If there was something he has been always sure of in his short life, was of his capability of painting, and not for choosing it as his first option of life would've cut down his flight.

He would grow his wings and become the best among the best. He would make it happen.

And it happened.

The painter was about to submerge the tiny hairs of his wasted, but most beloved brush in one of the colors when he felt the door being slowly opened, taking him out of his thoughts in a rough manner. His frown transformed into a vexed one, a little creased, and turned his body to see the contact breaker of his inspiration.

But when he saw who it was, he couldn't help but smile, because even if the muse left him, it returned to him with more force than before.

His ray of light had entered the scene, making his cavern glorified.

“May I?” asked the little man in a shy voice, peeking from behind the door.

“Of course,” answered the painter, offering him his best smile. “I don’t know why you even ask.”

“You are working,” was his response, completely entering the small, but the comfortable room as he closed the door behind him. “And I know how much you hate when somebody interrupts you.”

“But you would never annoy me,” he replied, stealing a blushed smile from the younger.

“I have to be careful anyway,” he responded, walking slowly towards the other. His steps were short, but precise and decided. Wonho didn't stop looking at him, trying with his tired, but full of love eyes to find the other’s gaze and merge them both, as if a spark would emerge from that simple gesture.

In the end, they found each other and they felt that same connection. That channel, that bond that tied them together in such a unique way, and that maintained them both alive. That tickling sensation that mixed with the tiny butterflies on their stomachs, the ones who brought them, psychically, a little of what they felt.

“Don’t be that slow,” said the younger the eldest, while the called one couldn't help but giggle at his words. The youngest finally arrived, just being a few centimeters far from the painter. Where he stood, he could see each one of the artist’s imperfections; those who made him fall in love with him. He could see each wrinkle, each bag under his eyes, each mole, everything. And it made him nuts, it made him fall all over again while he lost himself and spent each second of his glorious time looking at him.

“Come on, sit down,” said the elder, opening his legs a little to left the younger a space to sit in it.

“Do you think you can paint with me, literally, on top of you?” he asked, doubting the proposal. He truly wanted to accept it. But to be honest, if it was for him, he would spend his entire life with that man, who didn't only change his mind, but made him his since the beginning; in a way, he couldn't explain it with words. Since the first time Wonho saw him walking on the streets of Seoul, he had him graved on his skin.

And they didn't even touch each other.

But as people say, you don’t need even the slightest touch from the other to obtain his perfume, and less his presence to remember him. You only need imagination, and a deep gaze to be hypnotized; to fall in love. He didn't believe in love at first sight, but that day changed everything for him. He even asked himself why, but he had no answers. He just knew that it was the way it should have been, and vent out his feelings for him.

He threw himself into the abyss, and he wasn't willing to return.

“Yes,” was Wonho's response, and with his free hand, he grabbed his wrist and sat him down in the place he wanted. “You are small, and you fit in any person’s heart.”

The latter laughed at his comment and looked at the canvas. It wasn't completed, but it looked spectacular. There were lines of bright colors that combined with the sun, others that were more opaque, mimicking the mountains and the blues ran through them, simulating a beautiful river, but it missed something; that something that would make the piece turn into an important and special art piece. It wasn't seen at the bare eye, but he knew that Wonho saw it perfectly and that was enough to not love it and to tell the painter that in fact, he needed to finish it or to find that muse that only he had within him.

“Something is missing,” the youngest couldn't help but say, stealing a smile from the elder.

“You really know the way I paint,” answered Wonho, hugging his waist as he put the color palette on the other’s thigh, being careful to not stain his clothes with it.

“I have spent _years_ with you, sweetheart,” was his response, lying his back more into that wide and amazing chest. “It’s natural.”

“As I know when something is missing in your food,” he said, earning a jab from the other while he laughs about it.

“Do you only think of food?” he questioned, feeling, and seeing how his boyfriend moved the chair with him on his arms to be nearer the canvas and begin to paint more effectively.

“No,” replied the elder, staining the paintbrush in two colors, mixing them and going over the canvas. “I have two other things which are very important in my life.”

The black-haired man smiled, responding him with that gesture and at the same time, encouraging him to continue.

“Do you want to know who they are?” he asked, stopping a little to see his lover’s answer. The latter slightly nodded. He kind of knew the elder’s answers, but he loved to hear him. His voice was like music to his ears, like honey to his mouth and the more he talked, the more he felt lost in thoughts and real love.

However, he was now focused on the painting in front of him. He was admiring the scene and the hands of the painter doing wonders with each stroke he gave to the canvas.

“Painting,” began to explain the painter, finishing the unfinished mountains. “With this art form, with this passion of mine, I let my mind fly away, like a little bird wandering through the clouds. I let the world know with every sweat, with every feel that this is what I am, and this is what I live for. It’s like a dream come true, and I wish to let it go away with the wind so others can see it, can analyze it and at least try to be one with my paintings.”

“It’s comforting to know that I can make it happen with only a piece of art,” he continued, knowing that the younger was clearly hearing him; only paying attention to his words.

And that made him happy. It made his chest burst in pride; feeling complete and grateful for having him in his life another day that comes by.

“Your talent is innate, and you develop it so much that you cause the slightest emotion to sprout from the inside,” said the younger in response to his words. “Only dedicated people who love what they do can achieve what you reached; being one of the most influential and famous painters because of your art.”

“I don’t care about fame,” replied Wonho, giving a small kiss to the black-haired man on his cheek. “I just want people to see with their own eyes what I see. That’s what matters the most to me.”

“Trust me, they do,” confessed the smaller man with a wonderful smile drawn on his face. “At least not from your point of view, because yours is different and complicated from any other, but they do understand in a way what you want to say.”

“But they are some other painters that buy my works,” emphasized the painter, stroking the canvas. “Aren't they supposed to see exactly the same thing as me?”

“Maybe,” answered the boy called Minhyuk, his smiling turning off not because he was sad, but because he wanted to explain the other what he meant. “But each person has its own interpretation, especially the one who made it; the author,” he began to explain, while the other dedicated himself to finish the painting, and to carefully listen. “It’s like a drama. Many are part of it, but the leading characters have the weight, the pressure on their shoulders. If they fall, others fall too. If they don’t memorize the script and don’t go out acting like it should be, like the writer wants it to be, then it won’t work. It will be a failure.”

“That’s why the writer has to take them by the hand and re-create the way of how he or she sees the characters. Maybe the actors would nail it, and satisfy the playwright, but they will never understand the feeling he or she had when it was created; they had to be like him or her to know how it feels, and how important it is.”

“Wise words,” replied the elder, giving him a slight squeeze on his waist. “I always knew that I fell in love with a person who had a lot of common sense, and even though your thinking is complicated in a way, it’s unique at the same time.”

“I have to be equal to you, not behind you,” said Minhyuk in a joking manner, stealing a laugh from the other.

“You have always been equal to me, since the very first time,” reassured the painter, continuing with his wonderful piece. “You were everything I needed and everything I wanted, but I could have never guessed that I would fall that fast for a theater actor.”

“The love we have towards the art, unites us in a way, like the love we have for each other,” were the younger’s words, putting a hand on top of Wonho’s, slowly caressing it. “It was only life’s faith to link an actor with a painter.”

“I prefer you in a scenario,” confessed the artist. “It screams _you._ It captivates you, and you make it yours. It’s like me with the painting, with the canvas and the colors; we are one.”

“I know,” responded Minhyuk with a grin. “But I’m an actor nonetheless.”

“I understand, and I wouldn't change it as well,” answered Wonho, looking directly at the canvas as he smiled. In a few minutes, he made it almost complete. What he would have spent hours or even days, he could make it in fewer thanks to his inspiration, to his most beautiful muse.

_Lee Minhyuk._

“I would never change something of you,” he continued, feeling Minhyuk’s gaze on top of his face. “Everything you have, everything you possess is what makes you _you_ ; I like it, and I love it that way.”

“You are beautiful,” he answered at his flattery. “And I would give my life all over again if it means to have you in another life as my lover. I don’t want anyone else; it has to be you. I want to have you by my side till I close my eyes, and if I have to die to make it happen then death can embrace me, because nobody can take your place.”

Wonho smiled, stroking the last few parts of his artwork. “Let my art talk for me, and let him answer to your story. Look in front of you, and you will know what I mean.”

Minhyuk complied and turned his head. When his eyes saw the canvas, he couldn't help the tears at the bridge of his eyes. On many occasions, he tried to be one with the paint, with the canvas, but it was to no avail. Even though they shared the same passion, it was two different points of view. However, that didn't separate them, because he understood later on that he would never fully see Wonho’s world the way he saw it and it was okay, as long as he loved him.

But now he had it in front of him. That satisfaction he thought he would never find, that life; that shaped self that screamed Wonho was made in the most beautiful and perfect painting. It was perfectly created in canvas with infinite options, with millions of colors where two lovers found each other, looked at each other with a passion that only the ones in the art could understand, making the word love into magic.

It was the two of them; recreated in a panting to be told and explained for the rest of history.

Minhyuk felt the tears coming out from his eyes, and Wonho put his color palette on the night table that lied beside him, to later completely embrace his lover’s waist. The painter put his chin on top of the younger’s left shoulder as he admired his artwork.

“What I can’t tell you in words, I do it in paintings,” he confessed, letting the other relieve his feelings with the most beautiful tears. “You demonstrate to me what you are, what you feel in them because it’s your talent. With them, you survive… And with those, you conquered my heart,” he gave the black-haired a small peck on the cheek; taking with him one of his loving tears. “And with this **_tale of a painter,_** I dedicate you my best work of art and my biggest inspiration that has the name of **_you_**.”

“I love you,” he ended, putting his gaze on the other’s face. The younger felt it and replied to it with the same smile. “I loved you yesterday, I love you today, and I will love you forever.”

“I love you too,” said the guy, placing his forehead on top of his, getting nearer to his lips. “For eternity, until death, and with my entire life.”

And they linked their lips in the finest and sweetest kiss of love, where they expressed all their feeling not only in art but also in _theater_ and _paint._ Where they became one again, and where another inspiration began full of diamonds intertwined with pearls to create life’s most precious and delicate link. Because it wasn't just a union of two souls, but also a bond that only God could break apart.

**_In the tale of the painter._ **


End file.
